"the expectancy and rose of the fair state"
ripped from the womb,
life, the very mould of form
blasted with an ecstacy of freedom
leaving
us
"of ladies most deject and wretched"
quite,
quite
down
10/07/2009
10/03/2009
take that, AYERS!
maybe its the sun through the window on my new blue shoes
maybe its the books on my desk or ignoring the news
it could be july, or the last piece of pie
or this ironman feeling like i'll never die
whatever it is, i'll give it to you
out there in... CO with so much to do;
i'll bet you're swell, and workin' like (ahem) -
but i miss you and want you to know:
I LOVE YOU MICHAELA!!!!
maybe its the books on my desk or ignoring the news
it could be july, or the last piece of pie
or this ironman feeling like i'll never die
whatever it is, i'll give it to you
out there in... CO with so much to do;
i'll bet you're swell, and workin' like (ahem) -
but i miss you and want you to know:
I LOVE YOU MICHAELA!!!!
hehee
circus horses parade in plumes
attended by pink-suited grooms
peacocks serve the ladies drinks
as men play golf out on the links
leopards pad around the town
at the order of the Crown.
The dryad's are at their quilting club -
across the street there is a pub
filled with buffalos who've lost their wings
and owls who explain hard things.
Siamese cats are in the salon
complaining because the salmon's gone.
The moon jumped over my neighbor's cow
but i'll say goodbye with a chinese bow.
attended by pink-suited grooms
peacocks serve the ladies drinks
as men play golf out on the links
leopards pad around the town
at the order of the Crown.
The dryad's are at their quilting club -
across the street there is a pub
filled with buffalos who've lost their wings
and owls who explain hard things.
Siamese cats are in the salon
complaining because the salmon's gone.
The moon jumped over my neighbor's cow
but i'll say goodbye with a chinese bow.
10/01/2009
BRIGHT STAR
FIRST LOVE BURNS BRIGHTEST
A review of Jane Campion's recent film, Bright Star
by J. Cate Pilgrim
He'd come back to her changed. Korea had been...something. She could see it. He'd been a 19 year old in a fine uniform when the war started, but now he was twenty, a war hero with an empty left pant-leg to prove it. Walter Reed was taking care of him, he said. He didn't meet her gaze, but watched her eyes stray to the crutches and the one shoe on the floor. "You don't have to marry me, Francis. It's okay."
Her head jerks up, eyes blazing, and she grabs his shoulders.
"Don't have to? Shut up, Carl. I'm IN LOVE with you. I wanted to marry you, not your leg."
After watching Bright Star, I want to tell Jane Campion about my grandparents, and what they thought first love was all about. Campion obviously doen't understand its power. Her 2 hour biopic, Bright Star, struggles with the romance between poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw) and his young neighbor Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish). Although both the cinematography and acting are superb, the film itself is hollow. Keats and Brawne profess undying love for each other, and then proceed to do so again, and again, and again. Then Keats sails to Rome and dies of tuberculosis. At random (and frequent) points, both characters stare off into space and start reciting fragments of poetry. Often they are ankle deep in flowers. If Campion is trying to usher us into the presence of the lyric Muse, it feels pushy.
Keats, played by Whishaw, comes across as a fragile artist, whose poetic genius excuses his indolence, poverty, and friendship with odious scotsman Charle Brown (Paul Schneider). Cornish, Fanny's character, has more depth - she's an 1820's Juliet with a penchant for fashion who must battle the restrictions of an England that expected love to play second fiddle to marriage. Unfortunately, the restrictions win out. Fanny balks at all the wrong moments, allowing herself to be hustled from Keats' sickbed and maintaining perfect calm when he sails to Italy to die. In one scene, the dying Keats turns up raving feverishly under a bush in the back garden, calling for Fanny. She rushes to his sides and collapses next to him, screaming for her mother (Kerry Fox) to bring help. Their entire relationship is built on what they say to each other, not what they do for each other. Keats does not marry Fanny. Fanny does not go to Rome with Keats. Yet nothing formidable seems to prevent them; they are trapped in a weird coccoon of inaction. On film, this inactivity is weirdly synonomous with tedious boredom. When Keats' finally coughs himself into the next world, relief, not grief is the predominant emotion in the theater.
Is the Great Ideal of Romance us Philistines should aspire toward? Should we emulate the moody Keats, who travels to London but can't bring himself to visit Fanny because his love for her is such a burning thing? Or strive to be like Fanny, who fills her room with butterflies when Keats sends her a letter, and then slits her wrist when he doesn't? It all looks very pretty on screen, but living it would be so...impractical.
It's a biopic, you say, based on historical facts. Facts are facts and Campion had no choice. Wrong. In 1819 the real-life John Keats bared his soul to eighteen year old Fanny, won the sympathy of her widowed mother, and courted her with the vigor of a normal, red-blooded male. No fields of daffodils. No roomfuls of butterflies. Within two years they were engaged to be married. During this period he composed three of the most beautiful poetic works ever written: "Ode on a Grecian Urn" "Ode to a Nightingale" and "La Belle Dam Sans Merci." When Keats began coughing blood, and Fanny was forbidden from visiting him, she fought through and nursed him tenderly during his final months in England. Their love deepened, even as he was dying. As he waited for death in Rome, he never put down the oval marble she had given him. In the same manner, Fanny wore the ring Keats had given her all her life, even after she married a Mr. Lindon. Both of them were selfless, doing what was best for the other; both of them were in love. Actively.
Honestly, Campion shouldn't need the story of Carl and Francis Pilgrim in order to grasp the magnitude of first love. She just needs to go back and read what really happened between Fanny and Keats. Then she could've put in a scene where John says, "You needn't marry me, Fanny. I'm dying, and I'd understand." Then Fanny could grab his shoulders, eyes burning, and say, "Needn't? John Keats,I'm IN LOVE with you. I want to marry you, not your lungs."
A review of Jane Campion's recent film, Bright Star
by J. Cate Pilgrim
He'd come back to her changed. Korea had been...something. She could see it. He'd been a 19 year old in a fine uniform when the war started, but now he was twenty, a war hero with an empty left pant-leg to prove it. Walter Reed was taking care of him, he said. He didn't meet her gaze, but watched her eyes stray to the crutches and the one shoe on the floor. "You don't have to marry me, Francis. It's okay."
Her head jerks up, eyes blazing, and she grabs his shoulders.
"Don't have to? Shut up, Carl. I'm IN LOVE with you. I wanted to marry you, not your leg."
After watching Bright Star, I want to tell Jane Campion about my grandparents, and what they thought first love was all about. Campion obviously doen't understand its power. Her 2 hour biopic, Bright Star, struggles with the romance between poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw) and his young neighbor Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish). Although both the cinematography and acting are superb, the film itself is hollow. Keats and Brawne profess undying love for each other, and then proceed to do so again, and again, and again. Then Keats sails to Rome and dies of tuberculosis. At random (and frequent) points, both characters stare off into space and start reciting fragments of poetry. Often they are ankle deep in flowers. If Campion is trying to usher us into the presence of the lyric Muse, it feels pushy.
Keats, played by Whishaw, comes across as a fragile artist, whose poetic genius excuses his indolence, poverty, and friendship with odious scotsman Charle Brown (Paul Schneider). Cornish, Fanny's character, has more depth - she's an 1820's Juliet with a penchant for fashion who must battle the restrictions of an England that expected love to play second fiddle to marriage. Unfortunately, the restrictions win out. Fanny balks at all the wrong moments, allowing herself to be hustled from Keats' sickbed and maintaining perfect calm when he sails to Italy to die. In one scene, the dying Keats turns up raving feverishly under a bush in the back garden, calling for Fanny. She rushes to his sides and collapses next to him, screaming for her mother (Kerry Fox) to bring help. Their entire relationship is built on what they say to each other, not what they do for each other. Keats does not marry Fanny. Fanny does not go to Rome with Keats. Yet nothing formidable seems to prevent them; they are trapped in a weird coccoon of inaction. On film, this inactivity is weirdly synonomous with tedious boredom. When Keats' finally coughs himself into the next world, relief, not grief is the predominant emotion in the theater.
Is the Great Ideal of Romance us Philistines should aspire toward? Should we emulate the moody Keats, who travels to London but can't bring himself to visit Fanny because his love for her is such a burning thing? Or strive to be like Fanny, who fills her room with butterflies when Keats sends her a letter, and then slits her wrist when he doesn't? It all looks very pretty on screen, but living it would be so...impractical.
It's a biopic, you say, based on historical facts. Facts are facts and Campion had no choice. Wrong. In 1819 the real-life John Keats bared his soul to eighteen year old Fanny, won the sympathy of her widowed mother, and courted her with the vigor of a normal, red-blooded male. No fields of daffodils. No roomfuls of butterflies. Within two years they were engaged to be married. During this period he composed three of the most beautiful poetic works ever written: "Ode on a Grecian Urn" "Ode to a Nightingale" and "La Belle Dam Sans Merci." When Keats began coughing blood, and Fanny was forbidden from visiting him, she fought through and nursed him tenderly during his final months in England. Their love deepened, even as he was dying. As he waited for death in Rome, he never put down the oval marble she had given him. In the same manner, Fanny wore the ring Keats had given her all her life, even after she married a Mr. Lindon. Both of them were selfless, doing what was best for the other; both of them were in love. Actively.
Honestly, Campion shouldn't need the story of Carl and Francis Pilgrim in order to grasp the magnitude of first love. She just needs to go back and read what really happened between Fanny and Keats. Then she could've put in a scene where John says, "You needn't marry me, Fanny. I'm dying, and I'd understand." Then Fanny could grab his shoulders, eyes burning, and say, "Needn't? John Keats,I'm IN LOVE with you. I want to marry you, not your lungs."
9/30/2009
For Dan
don't be glum, my sickly chum,
for autumn days are here -
woodsmoke & wooly socks can fill you up with cheer!
feeling rather poorly?
want to sleep all day?
I know just the remedy to chase your blues away!
Walk into October, preferably at dawn,
and ...see the crunchy scarlet leaves sleeping on your lawn.
An instant cure! I guarantee!
Let FALL soak your soul in glee!
Go adopt a pumpkin; bake an apple pie -
maybe they won't cure you,
but WHAT A WAY TO DIE!!!!
for autumn days are here -
woodsmoke & wooly socks can fill you up with cheer!
feeling rather poorly?
want to sleep all day?
I know just the remedy to chase your blues away!
Walk into October, preferably at dawn,
and ...see the crunchy scarlet leaves sleeping on your lawn.
An instant cure! I guarantee!
Let FALL soak your soul in glee!
Go adopt a pumpkin; bake an apple pie -
maybe they won't cure you,
but WHAT A WAY TO DIE!!!!
9/29/2009
the suppleness of language
the suppleness of language
leaves me distracted
coming from your mouth, the meaning
refracted -
like the light
from your eyes.
i do not feel wise.
o! the tangles you've spoken,
and smiled in speaking,
leave me a token
carved from sharp hope.
They're like eggshells unbroken,
or an anger soft-spoken,
like a song & a vow -
but i cannot tell how
to unravel them out
and make them shout.
the suppleness of language
leaves me distracted;
it's a brilliance exacted
from a very plain stone.
please leave me alone
leaves me distracted
coming from your mouth, the meaning
refracted -
like the light
from your eyes.
i do not feel wise.
o! the tangles you've spoken,
and smiled in speaking,
leave me a token
carved from sharp hope.
They're like eggshells unbroken,
or an anger soft-spoken,
like a song & a vow -
but i cannot tell how
to unravel them out
and make them shout.
the suppleness of language
leaves me distracted;
it's a brilliance exacted
from a very plain stone.
please leave me alone
9/27/2009
Reinhold Niebuhr:
Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime,
Therefore, we are saved by hope.
Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history;
Therefore, we are saved by faith.
Nothing we do, however virt...uous, can be accomplished alone.
Therefore, we are saved by love.
No virtuous act is quite a virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our own;
Therefore, we are saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.
"It is His very closeness that makes it difficult for us to think of Him. He Who is infinitely above us, infinitely different from ourselves, infinitely “other” from us, nevertheless dwells in our souls, watches over every movement of our life with a...s much love as if we were His own self. His love is at work brining good out of all our mistakes and defeating even our sins.
“In planning the course of our lives, we must remember the importance and the dignity of our own freedom. A ma who fears to settle his future by a good act of his own free choice does not understand the love of God. For our freedom is a gift God has given us in order that He may be able to love us more perfectly, and be loved by us more perfectly in return.”
~ Merton No Man Is An Island 8.1 (“Vocation”)
Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime,
Therefore, we are saved by hope.
Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history;
Therefore, we are saved by faith.
Nothing we do, however virt...uous, can be accomplished alone.
Therefore, we are saved by love.
No virtuous act is quite a virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our own;
Therefore, we are saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.
"It is His very closeness that makes it difficult for us to think of Him. He Who is infinitely above us, infinitely different from ourselves, infinitely “other” from us, nevertheless dwells in our souls, watches over every movement of our life with a...s much love as if we were His own self. His love is at work brining good out of all our mistakes and defeating even our sins.
“In planning the course of our lives, we must remember the importance and the dignity of our own freedom. A ma who fears to settle his future by a good act of his own free choice does not understand the love of God. For our freedom is a gift God has given us in order that He may be able to love us more perfectly, and be loved by us more perfectly in return.”
~ Merton No Man Is An Island 8.1 (“Vocation”)
To a friend
oh my dearest darling,
how the days do fly!
sidewalks lead to buildings
& clouds race through the sky;
dogs chase after tennis balls
moles burrow in the lawn
but everytime i turn around tomorrow is just GONE!
i've been trying hard to call you
(i...'ve scheduled it twice)
but Time's a ruthless houseguest
whose manners are NOT nice.
The long and short, my dearest dear,
is that i love you true
and that will never change at all
'long as the sky is blue
how the days do fly!
sidewalks lead to buildings
& clouds race through the sky;
dogs chase after tennis balls
moles burrow in the lawn
but everytime i turn around tomorrow is just GONE!
i've been trying hard to call you
(i...'ve scheduled it twice)
but Time's a ruthless houseguest
whose manners are NOT nice.
The long and short, my dearest dear,
is that i love you true
and that will never change at all
'long as the sky is blue
9/26/2009
9/22/2009
when she was young, my mother decided to put
all her mistakes in jars. She
lined them up on the windowsill and on shelves in the cellar
& then grew up.
Once I followed the cat down the stairs and saw those dusty rows of experience,
and it frightened me to
count them out. i want to ask my mother
why she never taught me how to can,
but
something about all those jars
makes me think
i
understand.
all her mistakes in jars. She
lined them up on the windowsill and on shelves in the cellar
& then grew up.
Once I followed the cat down the stairs and saw those dusty rows of experience,
and it frightened me to
count them out. i want to ask my mother
why she never taught me how to can,
but
something about all those jars
makes me think
i
understand.
8/10/2009
I'll bet the moon gets jealous of earth:
Earth and Moon Compared
The Moon has approximately 1/4 Earth's diameter, 1/50 Earth's volume, and 1/80 Earth's mass. Earth is very dense overall (it is the densest planet in the Solar System), but the Moon is light for its size. The difference is partly because Earth has a large core of iron and other heavy metallic elements, while the Moon has only a small core, if it has a core at all. The Moon's surface gravity is 1/6 of Earth's, and escape velocity from the surface is about 1/5 of Earth's.
The Moon's surface is covered with rock and grit that are mostly dark-gray minerals, so it reflects light poorly compared to Earth, which always has highly-reflective clouds. The Moon reflects visible light about 1/3 as well as Earth, and because of its much smaller size, has a visual brightness less than 1/40 that of Earth, when both are fully illuminated and seen from the same distance -- a difference of four stellar magnitudes.
Earth Moon
Mean diameter 12,742 km 3,476 km
Volume 1.08321 x 1012 km3 2.199 x 1010 km3
Mass 5.9736 x 1024 kg 7.349 x 1022 kg
Mean density 5.515 3.342
Surface gravity 9.78 m/s2 1.62 m/s2
Escape velocity 11.2 km/s 2.38 km/s
Visual albedo 0.367 0.12
Visual magnitude -3.86 +0.21
http://www.freemars.org/jeff/planets/Luna/Luna.htm
Earth and Moon Compared
The Moon has approximately 1/4 Earth's diameter, 1/50 Earth's volume, and 1/80 Earth's mass. Earth is very dense overall (it is the densest planet in the Solar System), but the Moon is light for its size. The difference is partly because Earth has a large core of iron and other heavy metallic elements, while the Moon has only a small core, if it has a core at all. The Moon's surface gravity is 1/6 of Earth's, and escape velocity from the surface is about 1/5 of Earth's.
The Moon's surface is covered with rock and grit that are mostly dark-gray minerals, so it reflects light poorly compared to Earth, which always has highly-reflective clouds. The Moon reflects visible light about 1/3 as well as Earth, and because of its much smaller size, has a visual brightness less than 1/40 that of Earth, when both are fully illuminated and seen from the same distance -- a difference of four stellar magnitudes.
Earth Moon
Mean diameter 12,742 km 3,476 km
Volume 1.08321 x 1012 km3 2.199 x 1010 km3
Mass 5.9736 x 1024 kg 7.349 x 1022 kg
Mean density 5.515 3.342
Surface gravity 9.78 m/s2 1.62 m/s2
Escape velocity 11.2 km/s 2.38 km/s
Visual albedo 0.367 0.12
Visual magnitude -3.86 +0.21
http://www.freemars.org/jeff/planets/Luna/Luna.htm
for Kasey B.
there is sorrow in the night sky tonight
& i feel you are lost to me.
it should not be so, first
because you are human & in pain,
and next because I am only 238855 miles
from the moon
& so are you.
there is sorrow in the night sky tonight,
& i wish you very close to me
for there is peace in my bed -
also books & sand & a purring cat,
but mostly peace.
oh my hippie-flower child, bewildered & beleaguered by the immense sorrows & immense beauties of life, do not be lost to me. We're 23 million miles from Venus, yet she will guide the morning to earth's doorstep. Do not be afraid, even if the circle breaks & the bird dies & the house burns cold. Do not be afraid.
It will not mean the end of love.
& i feel you are lost to me.
it should not be so, first
because you are human & in pain,
and next because I am only 238855 miles
from the moon
& so are you.
there is sorrow in the night sky tonight,
& i wish you very close to me
for there is peace in my bed -
also books & sand & a purring cat,
but mostly peace.
oh my hippie-flower child, bewildered & beleaguered by the immense sorrows & immense beauties of life, do not be lost to me. We're 23 million miles from Venus, yet she will guide the morning to earth's doorstep. Do not be afraid, even if the circle breaks & the bird dies & the house burns cold. Do not be afraid.
It will not mean the end of love.
7/30/2009
Dame Drought
She’s weaving lies on the loom of the skies –
The farmers know.
They know her dyes from old Julys –
The same winds blow.
She cleverly tries to dazzle their eyes
“your crops will grow.”
With hope of rain that will save their grain.
But they’re too wise.
Her shuttles clack but the earth grows black
And cattle die in the fields.
Warp says ‘clouds’ while weft makes shrouds
As she sings always of sun.
The fabric’s blue, no rain in view
Their farming days are done.
She’s weaving lies on the loom of the skies –
The farmers know.
They know her dyes from old Julys –
The same winds blow.
She cleverly tries to dazzle their eyes
“your crops will grow.”
With hope of rain that will save their grain.
But they’re too wise.
Her shuttles clack but the earth grows black
And cattle die in the fields.
Warp says ‘clouds’ while weft makes shrouds
As she sings always of sun.
The fabric’s blue, no rain in view
Their farming days are done.
7/24/2009
copycatting brian andreas
if your heart had a password she said, it would be peach cobbler or something but then he put down his spoon & kissed her. it would be your peach cobbler.
7/20/2009
kid sister
sixteen stoplights & a sunset on the windshield
sixteen songs & the cadence of the wind
sixteen streetsigns crooked at the crossings
sixteen summers she's been in love with him
it's no use counting, no use at all
she doesn't see him stumble or hear him fall
she's his stars & sun, breath & bone
but he worships afar & sleeps alone
what's the game here, sister, it doesn't seem fair
what's the deal here, brother, some sort of dare -
it's driving me crazy down this long dark road
nobody's gettin' the love that they're owed
sixteen songs & the cadence of the wind
sixteen streetsigns crooked at the crossings
sixteen summers she's been in love with him
it's no use counting, no use at all
she doesn't see him stumble or hear him fall
she's his stars & sun, breath & bone
but he worships afar & sleeps alone
what's the game here, sister, it doesn't seem fair
what's the deal here, brother, some sort of dare -
it's driving me crazy down this long dark road
nobody's gettin' the love that they're owed
7/19/2009
a refuge now in silence, in calm & much afraid
she shatters in the distance (the blueblood price is paid)
she waters all the garden yet leaves the ferry dry
she is a witche's bargain - listen to her sigh
it isn't spain or summertime, that cadence in her throat,
it's something dark & even, that grips with every note.
she's not some gypsy singer, and you won't get her to dance
but, as she's black as moonless hell, you'll long for her romance.
wrists above the table, eyes upon the floor
fire on the hearth & master at the door
run, you moonless river, run and fear no more
for, sure as heaven loves you, you'll reach the farther shore.
she shatters in the distance (the blueblood price is paid)
she waters all the garden yet leaves the ferry dry
she is a witche's bargain - listen to her sigh
it isn't spain or summertime, that cadence in her throat,
it's something dark & even, that grips with every note.
she's not some gypsy singer, and you won't get her to dance
but, as she's black as moonless hell, you'll long for her romance.
wrists above the table, eyes upon the floor
fire on the hearth & master at the door
run, you moonless river, run and fear no more
for, sure as heaven loves you, you'll reach the farther shore.
Is it so much?
i am not asking much.
i am not asking for the attar of a thousand roses.
i am not asking for your first-born child.
i am not asking you to climb a glass hill
or vanquish princes or outwit warlocks or sail around the world.
all i am asking is that you would grieve with me
and shed pure tears,
and grieve with me.
i am not asking for the attar of a thousand roses.
i am not asking for your first-born child.
i am not asking you to climb a glass hill
or vanquish princes or outwit warlocks or sail around the world.
all i am asking is that you would grieve with me
and shed pure tears,
and grieve with me.
7/07/2009
Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable. ~C. S. Lewis
"Sometimes I feel like Mario when he falls into the room that doesn't have an exit. But from time to time, I have this feeling, almost a thought, that says,"Maybe everything's going to be okay...huh?" - B. M.
"Sometimes I feel like Mario when he falls into the room that doesn't have an exit. But from time to time, I have this feeling, almost a thought, that says,"Maybe everything's going to be okay...huh?" - B. M.
5/31/2009
SOCIETY!!! SOCIETY!!! SOCIETTTTTY!!!!!!!!!
I would give a lot for a chance at you
in the dark,
under stars, away from bars and cars;
to see the breeze on your face
in an out-door place where i don't have to chase
your eyes all the time.
they could take it all, i wouldn't care
it would all be fair, just to walk with you
somewhere true -
blue breakthrough.
there are some questions i want to ask you:
why & where do you always run? could you dance instead, clear your head, spin and swirl and have some fun, come undone in the summer sun?
(o girl, its time you had some fun!)
break the bottles
burn the shoes
come with me
what's there to lose?
i would give a lot
for a chance to let you breathe real air
beside me.
i'd pay any fee
for a single tree
and you
& me.
in the dark,
under stars, away from bars and cars;
to see the breeze on your face
in an out-door place where i don't have to chase
your eyes all the time.
they could take it all, i wouldn't care
it would all be fair, just to walk with you
somewhere true -
blue breakthrough.
there are some questions i want to ask you:
why & where do you always run? could you dance instead, clear your head, spin and swirl and have some fun, come undone in the summer sun?
(o girl, its time you had some fun!)
break the bottles
burn the shoes
come with me
what's there to lose?
i would give a lot
for a chance to let you breathe real air
beside me.
i'd pay any fee
for a single tree
and you
& me.
my head hurts
Lost kingdom caller
calling,
calling,
come kingdom, come king
lost kingdom, caller
lost,
call lost,
lost kingdom....lost king.
calling,
calling,
come kingdom, come king
lost kingdom, caller
lost,
call lost,
lost kingdom....lost king.
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